


Leading The Stars, Seeing With Our Eyes Closed

by starsandgutters



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Drabble, M/M, angsty schmoop as per usual, musical prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-30
Updated: 2015-01-30
Packaged: 2018-03-09 18:22:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3259748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsandgutters/pseuds/starsandgutters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s a story of obedience and rebellion, and of lack of a sense of self. The kind of story that rarely ends well.<br/>They’ve never expected it to end well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Leading The Stars, Seeing With Our Eyes Closed

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Yasmine's prompt, revolving around the song "Start A Riot" by Jetta.
>     
>     
>     Stealing the dark, erasing the shadows
>     We're leading the stars, seeing with our eyes closed
>     My heart aches, my heart aches, my heart aches 
>     When I think of you
>     And my heartache, my heartache, my heartache--
>     Then I think of you.

It’s a story of obedience and rebellion, and of lack of a sense of self. The kind of story that rarely ends well.

They’ve never expected it to end well.

Freeze-frame. 2 o’clock in the morning. A man in a leather jacket leaning against a sleek black car, and a man in a trenchcoat standing in front of him; a man, perhaps, though the way he holds himself seems to suggest something different, the smell of ozone and lightning storms.

“I can’t,” says the not-quite-a-man, regret etched in the words.

“Can’t or won’t?” asks the man. It’s a question he’s asked countless times before.

“I want to.” An admission. A confession. All sins forgiven, though not quite forgotten, not quite laid to rest.

Freeze-frame. The air is charged with electric stillness. This is not a new dance for them.

It’s a story of obedience, blind and heavy on their shoulders, following the orders of absent fathers whose reasons were unfathomable. It’s a story of rebellion, against heaven and hell and all the nasty, ugly, dark things in between. It’s the story of a creature made of intent and cold reason, and of how the man in the leather jacket forced a beating heart in its chest simply by existing. It’s the story of the man in the leather jacket and how he always saw himself as a blunt instrument, until an angel turned the world on its axis because of him; the angel, it turns out, saw more than enough in him for the two of them.

“Dean. I have duties. Responsibilities. Closing the gates of Heaven, it’s… we’ve talked about this.”

There’s always been something keeping them apart. It’s alright; the man in the leather jacket — Dean — knows how this goes. He never expected this to be easy, because he wouldn’t know easy if it kicked him in the face.

“ _You_  talked. I listened. Cas, it’s bullshit. You’re telling me you’re just gonna go? Just gonna— saunter upwards and slam the door behind you?”

“What else would you have me  _do?_ ” the angel — Cas — bites out. His name isn’t really ‘Cas’, but this is a story about sense of self, and how the man called Dean gave the angel called Castiel an entire new one, simply by stumbling into his path and refusing to do as he was told.

“We’re going to deal with this. Same as we always have. Sam is working on an alternative way to shut down hell. We’re gonna kick it in the ass, like we always do.”

Freeze-frame. They’ve been here before. Dean is a wild card, a spanner in the works, a shining trainwreck waiting to happen. Castiel loves him for this, with uncomprehending intensity. Dean is the moon, and Castiel is the tide hurtling itself against the rocks in an attempt to reach it.

Saying ‘no’ was never an option.

“You still have the Mark of Cain,” Castiel says, because someone has to be the voice of reason they’ll both ignore.

“I noticed that. Sam says there’s a chance it’ll never leave,” Dean says, looking up at the star-spattered sky, and he’s never been good at acting casual.

Castiel smiles. “I like a challenge.”

He steps off the motel porch, draws closer to Dean.

The night aches around them, thrumming in all the places their bodies are not touching.

“And you’ve always been in the habit of exceeding my expectations.”

They get in the car and drive. They don’t expect things to go smoothly, because things never do, and the road always swerves when you least expect it to. What they trust in, however, are the stops along the way.

Freeze-frame. A field in Nowheresville, Oklahoma and the stars just beginning to fade. The horizon bleeds a soft pink, and they’re far from their destination, but they’ve driven long enough to be drunk on blacktop and sleeplessness.

They’re leaning against the sleek black car, shoulders touching; the night breathes a sigh of relief.

“I like the stars,” Dean says, taking a swig of beer.

“You shouldn’t,” Castiel replies. His hands are tucked tight in his coat pockets, because they’ve unlearned how to keep their distance.

Dean laughs a little. “Why the hell not?” He leans against Cas a little more, because Dean is human, and he’s never bothered to teach himself not to.

Castiel thinks before he speaks, then thinks some more; he can’t find a single lie in the words he’s about to say, so he says them.

“I’ve seen the stars up close, and they’re worthless compared to you. I would tear each one down from the heavens if it served to keep you safe a little longer.”

Freeze-frame. Six years of playing this game. Even liars have their limits. Even dams break, eventually. Dean Winchester has his hands on either side of Cas’s face, kissing the breath out of him, and the stars are as forgotten as the beer spilling itself out on the grass.

“Dean,” Cas gasps,”do you truly believe we can do it? All of it?”

Dean thinks about it, because age has made him wiser, and Castiel loves that too.

“I believe we can try.”

“That’s not much of a plan,” Castiel teases, getting a playful shove in return.

“It’s worked for us before.”

The engine is still warm against their backs, warding off the chill of the night. Castiel thinks of tides crashing against the rocks, and the setting moon in the sky. He smiles. “I’ll go with you to the very end.”

They’ve never expected this to end well, but then again, they’ve also never cared.


End file.
